Amira (Cumberland Saga)

The onslaught of springtime work caused dinner-time to shift to where it was nipping the heels of the ever-later sunset. Consequently, nearly everybody was sitting down to dinner when the dogs started baying.

Not expecting visitors, Roger and Alice, Sig and Ellie, Gregor, and Blain and Lliam were all armed and waiting when the dogs redoubled their howling.

Nobody was prepared for the lithe, somewhat older woman who emerged into the clearing. Her hair was the color of steel-wool and was a very practical short-cut and tightly permed. She was wearing a bright, polyester fleece jacket, charcoal-gray jogging tights and Nobull, gum-soled trainers.

On her back was a small backpack with a water-bottle nestled in a mesh pocket on the side. A can of pepper-spray was velcroed to her left wrist.

She moved along the rough two-track with the very slightest swagger. It wasn’t anything overt but it radiated the impression that she had taken the measure of herself and not found it wanting. Or if it had been found wanting, the shortcomings had been immediately and aggressively corrected.

She would have been totally invisible on any college campus in America but was as out-of-place on a two-track in rural Tennessee as a tropical fish.

She bee-lined directly to Sig and stopped six feet in front of him.

“I am Amira. I am Walter’s wife” she announced. Her voice had inflections that were similar to Sig’s but not identical. Blain deduced that she was originally from Europe.

“I know who you are” Sig scowled.

“I need to have somebody move the rock in the driveway so I can drive up here” she demanded. If she noticed the prominently display of firearms she didn’t seem bothered by them.

“You are not welcome here” Sig replied.

Blain’s eyebrows rose. He assumed that Walter was one of the far-flung sons of Copperhead Cove who they had been busting their humps to welcome.

“Your Christian Bible says that even Pagans take care of family” Amira responded.

“It does” Sig admitted.

“You say you are Christian and you would do less?” Amira challenged. Clearly, she had prepared for the less-than-warm welcome.

A tension-filled pause followed.

“You can carry your things up here, then” Sig finally grunted, gracelessly.

“Walter is not feeling well. I don’t think he is up to walking” Amira said.

Sig chewed on that for a few seconds. Then, turning he said to Gregor “Can you run your truck down to the road and pick up your Uncle Walter?”

Gregor nodded. “I am on it.”

Blain heard Sarah muttering under her breath….”Amira. Walter. They live in Missouri….”

Amira turned and started walking back down the two-track to her vehicle. Gregor followed in his truck a few minutes later.

Gregor came back with one passenger. Walter looked like Sig but was tall and gaunt. He seemed lethargic and unable to focus.

Fifteen minutes later, Amira came marching up the drive. She was carrying two suitcases. She walked up to Blain and Sarah and asked “Sarah, may we stay with you tonight? We can sleep on the floor but we need four places.”

It was Sarah’s turn to be confused. “Four?”

“My two sons did not want to leave the car. When they get cold enough, or they get hungry enough, they will join us” Amira said.

Blain noticed that she was relatively short although the way she carried herself made her seem at least six inches taller.

Blain, confused, asked “Why didn’t you just throw the suitcases into the back of Gregor’s truck?”

Amira said “Sig is an asshole. I refuse to give him anything to complain about. He told Gregor to bring back Walther, nobody or nothing else.”

Blain was instinctively wary of Amira. Every college town had a double-handful of her type: Women who seemed to hear and see everything. Women of formidable intelligence and will, steel-backbones and unbending self-discipline. 

Dangerous women. Very dangerous women for the kind of man he had been before Copperhead Cove.

What was she doing here?

“Who is Walter?” Blain asked.

“Walter is Sig’s older brother. They have not been on speaking terms since Walter married me” Amira informed him.

Blain was having a hard time reconciling Sig with the man Amira was describing. Sure, Sig was a hard man but he had always been more than fair...in the long run.

“Why would that be?” Blain asked.

“Because I am a Bosniak” Amira informed him.

“I don’t know what a ‘Bosniak’ is” Blain admitted with a shrug.

“I am a Muslim” Amira said. "I was born in Bosnia."

***

A tip-of-the-hat to Jen at Alive gym in Charlotte. She coached me on what a woman like Amira would be wearing. When in doubt, consult an expert!

A second tip-of-the-hat to "Teal" at the 24hourcampfire forum for recommending a woman who survived the Siege of Sarajevo as a worthy inclusion to the cast of characters at Copperhead Cove.